All This Life

It’s almost a whisper, which he can’t hear. His eyes are far away, clomping around the room. His eyes are submerged in violence. They’ve tasted the chum and now need real meat.

Sara doesn’t require his help, anybody’s help hating herself right now. Some website can’t brand her the skank of the week because she’s been tagging that on her skull’s walls all day, with almost every breath.

“What do you want me to do about it?” she asks. “How can I make this better?”

“And then you flit in here holding your panties?” he says. “Rubbing my face in all this? Making me have to see you slut around?”

“You’re breaking my heart,” she says and starts crying and runs to her room, throws the closet open, gets a ratty suitcase and unzips it and stuffs whatever clothes she can fit. Snatches her emergency money. Her hands aren’t only vibrating cell phones on the inside anymore. They’re flat-out shaking. She’s shaking. And crying so hard that saliva runs from the corners of her mouth. To walk in the house and be shamed by her brother is the day’s final disgrace.

Next she takes the suitcase into the bathroom and flings her toothbrush and hairbrush and there are probably ten other things she should grab, but she can’t think of what they might be, zipping it up and turning to the door. She can’t concentrate on any particulars because there are amplifiers blaring in her head, heaving Hank’s shames over and over, playing them like power chords.

All that matters is fleeing this house.

All that matters is speeding outside the city limits.

All that matters is not being here.

“Where are you going?” Hank says in the doorway.

“What do you care if a skank of the week leaves?”

“You’re not going anywhere, Sara.”

“Stop calling me that!” she says, wishing she were strong enough to slam him in the temple and topple him to the ground, telling him, My name is Baby Sis.

“Calling you what?”

“I’m taking a trip,” she says.

“You’re not.”

And she and her ratty suitcase run full speed into Hank. He doesn’t budge. The dog starts barking from the hallway. Obviously, Hank can manhandle her, but he’s not. He’s letting her slam into him and he’s letting her drag the suitcase away and letting her amble through the front door and letting her shut it. Sara can’t tell what would feel worse — him making her stay, or him allowing her to leave — and her thoughts are the loudest they’ve ever been, cranking through those amplifiers and her hands keep buzzing and buzzing and she’s crying harder than she ever has, even more than when her parents died because that at least had shock as a component and there’s none of that numbing here. No, there’s only Hank crunching up her heart like an aluminum can.

Sara’s at her car, looking over her shoulder to see if Hank will come out and stop her, but the house is quiet. Even Bernard has stopped barking. The quiet at the river had felt so peaceful, yet this one feels fickle and cruel.

She throws open the trunk and stows the suitcase and opens the driver’s side door and notices someone’s inside. She jumps back.

“Me,” says Rodney from the passenger seat.

“What are you doing here?”

“You. Oh. Kay?”

“You need to go,” she says. “I’m getting out of here.”

Rodney nods but doesn’t budge.

“I’m leaving now,” she says.

More nodding.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Sara asks.

More nodding.

“What are you doing, Rodney?”

“I’m. Com. Ing.”

“You can’t.”

“Can.”

Sara looks up at the house. Hank hasn’t come outside to stop her. He’s not bellowing Baby Sis from inside. She tries to stifle her sobs, but it’s worse when she sees Rodney, and she surrenders into it, wailing. “He hates me,” she says and crashes into the driver’s seat.

“Shhh,” says Rodney.

He holds his wet trunks toward Sara, presumably for her to use as a hanky, and Sara laughs.

“No thanks,” she says.

“All. I. Need,” he says.

“All you need for what?”

He points out the window, into the distance and darkness.

She’d misread his offering. He wasn’t presenting the boxers as a way to wipe her tears, blow her nose. No, Rodney was suggesting something else entirely: an escape, a copilot, a friend.

“Those are all you need to leave with me?” she asks.

Rodney nods again, and Sara feels a bit better, taking his boxers and running them under her eyes.

“Let’s go find your mom,” she says.

~ ~ ~